


and i am plastic

by trash_mammall



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Gen, Happy Ending, One Shot, Regret, connor's going through a tough time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 05:12:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15065879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash_mammall/pseuds/trash_mammall
Summary: Connor has spent his life mimicking emotions, and the history of that is tucked in his LED.So why doesn't he take it out?- - - - - -Repost b/c I changed stuff, previously called "i learned it from you"





	and i am plastic

Connor was an expert in mimicry.

He had been programmed for seamlessly integrating with humans, and that required being able to switch emotions in an instant. For interrogations, for working alongside the other officers, for situations that he was not expecting, he needed the use of a wide range of responses.

This feature was incredible when he was merely a machine: he could scream in the face of a deviant, he could reply coldly to Detective Reed, and he could nurse along a bond between himself and Lieutenant Anderson, all for the betterment of his mission. He was also able to switch  _ off _ these simulated emotions in situations where he needed to be logical -- where panic, or fear, or stress would put everything he had worked towards in jeopardy.

Sometimes it had been hard for him to tell the difference between his own deviating and the function of his model, especially near the beginning of his growing instability. The heaviness of his gut at the PL600 ( _ Daniel _ , he had to remind himself) model’s death was the first hint that something was wrong inside his programming, but he had dismissed it. He hadn’t wanted to make it seem like he needed to be reprogrammed, or perhaps disassembled.

That was the second hint, though he hadn’t caught that irrational fear at the time.

The small bits of deviancy continued to worm their ways into Connor’s inspections, and into his time off. He would not be simply searching for information, instead finding himself legitimately curious. A part of him wondered if there was a difference between the two, though, knowing Amanda, he knew the answer was yes _. _

He found impatience with Lieutenant Anderson in the beginning, itching to get working and learn what was happening. He didn’t want to wait on a man who was so unwilling to put in the effort.

He found simmering anger in every interaction with Detective Reed, just wanting to move on with the day. He hated being talked down to, he hated the look in the detective’s eyes when, with every effort to diffuse the situation, he always ended up making things worse.

He found something clawing in his chest when he arrived at the lieutenant’s house only to find him passed out. Something far too like fear, or dread, and he didn’t want to think about the implications of that.

Connor knew how to express human emotions, anyone who had seen him work with a deviant could agree with that. Officers, bystanders, had seen him empathize, sympathize, or yell bloody murder.

He had an incredible amount of information on emotions in his memory, he knew more about the logistical side of expressing emotions than most humans. But coding and instructions were near useless when it came to properly expressing emotions, especially after his deviancy took him full force. The hardest to express, he found, was happiness.

He had gone so long surrounded by loss, surrounded by anger dripping from wounds and hatred fueling murders. It had been months spent around deviants, desperate and drowning in fear. Connor had very little knowledge about pleasure, or cheerfulness.

The first time Connor properly felt happiness, the first time his gut felt warm and he couldn’t help but smile –  _ really  _ smile – was the morning after the revolution. The sun was out, the snow glittered, and Connor had wondered for a moment why he had never taken the time to look at the snow like that before. Hank had pulled him close, had told him he was proud, and Connor had wrapped his arms around Hank’s torso. His entire body felt warm, he had smelled whiskey, and he couldn’t stop smiling.

He had never properly smiled before that moment.

Connor had felt happiness in small moments, too. He had felt that growing warmth while laying on the ground with Sumo, or listening to Hank ramble about his childhood. He had let out barks of laughter, strong and unnatural, while learning about the mindless things Hank had done as a teenager.

Laughing had felt unusual, felt new and foreign, but he thought he liked it.

Hank had seemed to like it, too.

Hank quickly learned how to make Connor laugh, had learned which phrases to say and what types of stories to tell. Connor thought him laughing maybe reminded Hank of Cole, or Connor’s humanity, or both. There was always something Hank kept in his chest, something when he looked at Connor in the right light, or heard Connor in the earliest of hours.

Connor never asked, despite his unrelenting curiosity.

Connor had always found himself wondering what it would be like to grow up with all of these emotions. What it would be like to simply be human, with everything that came with it. He would wonder about pain, about sorrow, but also about the simplicity of existing in a world that resisted androids.

Connor would wonder what it felt like to not worry about mimicking anymore.

One day, when Hank was out and Sumo was fast asleep, Connor found himself in the light of the bathroom. His reflection stared back at him, blank and far too mechanical, and his LED blinked.

_ Blue. _

Connor wondered why he had never taken out that LED, why he always had it glowing on his temple. He only hid it occasionally, when the case required he look more human or his gut twisted at the shine in his peripheral, but he had never felt it right to take it out.

So many androids had, so why hadn’t he?

The LED blinked faster.

Connor supposed it held something he didn’t want to let go, like Hank’s small stack of writings he had created as a child. Something unnecessary and impossible to understand about how he needed it there, needed that symbol.

But it held so much danger. It held the reminder of his apathetic following of Cyberlife, and the knowledge of his constant imitation, so why didn’t he just take it out?

The LED pulsed.

_ Yellow. _

Connor traced the ring of colour with a finger, felt the unique texture of his skin that morphed around the light. He thought, maybe, it was a reminder to himself. It was aggravating, a direct window into his emotions, it gave away far too much far too easily and it was near impossible to control.

But he had gone so long separating himself from the rest of androids. He had been programmed to hunt his own people, had called himself nothing but a machine and blamed his actions on that.

Maybe this was a reminder that he wasn’t allowed to detach himself again. Maybe it was a punishment for doing it at all.

The LED blinked faster.

A part of Connor, one in the back of his mind that held anger and regret and unending remorse for the stories hidden in that damn circle, demanded he take it out. Androids couldn’t feel pain, and it wasn’t like no one else had done it, so what was the point in leaving it in?  What was the point in reminding everyone that looked at him that he had been an apathetic impersonation of a human?

He just wanted to move past that, he wanted to stop being paranoid that he was pretending again. All his life was imitation, was faking and manipulating to finish his mission. But he didn’t want that anymore, so why keep the LED?

What was the  _ fucking point? _

The LED flickered.

_ Yellow. Red. Yellow. _

Connor took a breath.

His mind drifted to the pictures of Cole that were dispersed throughout the house, the macaroni art and scribbled drawings. He remembered the look in Hank’s eyes when he had a little too much to drink, or simply looked at the remnants of Cole for too long, mourning and holding a dusty sort of loss.

Connor supposed, maybe, this was a way for him to mourn.

The mourning of all the androids he had shot, all the androids he had lied to. The mourning of the humans he had ignored, or worse.

The mourning of the Connor that had been trapped in his coding.

And Connor took a breath.

The LED pulsed slowly.

_ Yellow. _

It wasn’t like he didn’t have interests, after all. He enjoyed sunsets and the sound of crickets late at night. Organizing had always helped him clear his head, and it was something he felt was easy, it was something he could do to turn off his mind for a moment.

Connor had to remind himself that one doesn’t create hobbies through mimicry – you have to properly enjoy the action in order to continue it.

He enjoyed taking Sumo for walks, and the smell of coffee before work.

He enjoyed talking to Hank, or watching TV with him.

Connor enjoyed things, and so he smiled.

Wasn’t that real enough?

_ Blue. _

Connor thought he looked less like a machine while smiling, it softened his features and brightened his eyes. He thought he had to be passed his imitations if he had truly just experienced this evening, real flashes of anger and desperation having been reflected in the glass.

He thought, maybe, he didn’t need to take out his LED to show people he had moved passed those faux emotions..

Connor left the bathroom, flicking the light off on his way out, and he found Sumo. The dog was asleep, snoring contentedly, and Connor knelt down next to him. He felt warmth curl in his chest, the same warmth that came with much of what Hank did, and Connor let himself rest his head on Sumo’s side.

He heard each breath, heard the steady heartbeat behind Sumo’s ribs, and felt the shifting of fur tickle his ears. Connor breathed with Sumo, despite the absence of purpose behind that particular function. He supposed it was intended to help him blend in, but it had folded itself into his relaxation, neat and without his notice.

Connor often found himself taking steady breaths when going on standby. 

And when Hank came home, groceries in hand and a hint of exhaustion in his eyes, he found the two still on the floor. Connor’s LED was dim, glowing warmly and pulsing with each breath, and there was a faint, genuine smile resting on Connor’s lips.

**Author's Note:**

> i like the idea that Connor was mimicking his emotions for his investigations, n that he was able to switch them easily. it makes for an interesting part of him
> 
> hope you enjoy !!!
> 
> (tumblr: trash-mammall)


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